Vanilla Bean Buttercream Frosting

Miya's birthday. She is four. We share a birthday — August 8th — and this year the sharing feels different: I am thirty-five and starting over, and she is four and starting everything. The party was small — outdoor, in a park, four children from the play group, masks pulled down for cake. I made onigiri for the picnic and a chocolate cake with a four on top and Miya wore a crown she made from construction paper and told everyone, "I am four now," with the authority of a person who has been waiting for this promotion for a year.

Brian came to the party. We stood on opposite sides of the picnic table and were cordial and present and co-parental and the other parents, who do not know we have separated, commented on how well we work together. "You guys are such a team," one mother said, and I smiled, because the performance is seamless, the way it has always been, and the seamlessness is its own kind of grief — the grief of being good at pretending, of having spent years perfecting the appearance of a thing that does not exist.

I turned thirty-five. The number feels like a summit — not the top, but a ridge from which I can see in both directions. Behind me: the twenties of anxiety and yoga, the early thirties of marriage and motherhood and Fumiko's death. Ahead of me: the unknown, which used to terrify me and now excites me in a way that is either growth or denial and I choose to call it growth. I am thirty-five and divorced-in-progress and living alone for the first time since I was twenty-two and I am making miso soup every morning in a kitchen that holds no one else's expectations, and the soup tastes better. The soup has always tasted better when no one is watching.

Barbara sent a card — to the new address, which I gave her when I told her about the separation. Barbara said, "Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry," and then immediately, "Gerald and I can come up and help you settle in," and then immediately, "Are you eating enough?" Barbara processes crisis through logistics and food, which is where I learned it, which is the inheritance I don't write about because it is not Japanese and not dramatic, but it is real: the white American mother who taught her mixed-race daughter that the first response to pain is a casserole. I don't make casseroles. I make miso soup. But the impulse is the same: feed yourself through the falling. The food will catch you.

The chocolate cake itself was straightforward — I’ve made it enough times that my hands remember it — but the frosting is where I slow down, where I let myself be present. Miya had requested “the fluffy white kind,” and I wanted it to be worthy of a person who had been waiting a full year to become four. This vanilla bean buttercream is the one I come back to: it pipes clean, it holds its shape in the heat, and it tastes like something that was made on purpose, with care — which is exactly the kind of thing I am trying to remember how to do for myself right now.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 12 (frosts one 2-layer 9-inch cake)

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
2 tablespoons heavy cream or whole milk
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla bean paste (or seeds scraped from 1 vanilla bean)
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

Beat the butter. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter on medium-high speed for 3–4 minutes until pale, fluffy, and noticeably lighter in color. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add the sugar. Reduce the mixer to low and add the sifted powdered sugar one cup at a time, mixing until incorporated after each addition. Once all the sugar is in, increase speed to medium and beat for 1 minute.
Add cream and vanilla. Add the heavy cream, vanilla bean paste, and salt. Beat on medium-high for 2–3 minutes until the frosting is very light, smooth, and fluffy. If the frosting is too thick, add additional cream 1 teaspoon at a time. If too thin, add powdered sugar 1 tablespoon at a time.
Taste and adjust. Taste the frosting and adjust salt or vanilla to your preference. The salt should be present enough to balance the sweetness without being identifiable.
Frost and pipe. Use immediately to frost a cooled cake, or transfer to a piping bag fitted with your preferred tip. To write numbers or pipe decorations, a round tip works best. Leftover frosting can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 5 days; bring to room temperature and re-whip before using.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vanilla Bean Buttercream Frosting — The Four on Top